The Chronicles of Pyper
by Azzie - Pyper - O-Gee
Summary: She’s hyperactive, obsessive, arguably a few screws loose and has had to be sedated every now and then. Take a look into the life of WWE’s psychotic fan girl, Pyper. T13 for humor, some language and stupidity.
1. Who Is Pyper?

The Chronicles of Pyper

Genre: Humor  
Rating: T-13  
Summary: She's hyperactive, obsessive, arguably a few screws loose and has had to be sedated every now and then. Take a look into the life of WWE's psychotic fan girl, Pyper. T13 for humor, some language and stupidity.

The account is ALIVE!

Hello, Azrael and Pyper here. We know this account has been dormant for far too long, so we decided to see if we couldn't cook up a fanfic and bring some life back into it. So here you go; written in the viewpoint of one of the most outrageous fan girl to come up within wrestling fiction. Prepare for tears, laughter, and a hell of a lot of cringing. We bring you The Chronicles of Pyper. Enjoy this introductory chapter.

Date Uploaded: 17 August 2005

**Chapter 01: Who is Pyper?**

Greetings, oh unwitting, gullible reader. My name is Pyper. If that name has no relevance to you at this point then shame on you. Nevertheless, seeing as you are reading these records, you will soon be enlightened.

I have been called many things in the past. A lunatic, a psycho, both of which are considered synonyms and thus only count as one, described as rabid, obsessive and delusional. All of the above usually precede that damning other moniker: fan girl. Said term can easily apply to about ten million other girls around the globe.

Make no mistake, however. I am not your ordinary, run of the mill, garden-variety fan girl. I am THE fan girl. I have stalked, hounded, harassed and goaded various WWE superstars. I have spent loads of money, most of it not mine, on crazy schemes. I have a collection of various restraining orders. And I have not been put away yet. How many other fan girls do you know have done that?

I am not without companions either. Some of you may have heard of the unfortunate older sister I call Azzie. Maybe. I like to think I'm more popular than she is, and, with a personality of hers like a rusted nail, I most probably am. Azrael does little other than sit at her computer, drink coffee and lecture me at times to stop pestering the wrestlers. Mostly she is good for a quick car loan, funding and bailing me out of jail, but not without the customary verbal tussle. She talks a lot but is basically harmless, except to men whose groins are within kicking distance.

Our youngest sister is O-Gee. Seeing as she's still a kid and quite naïve, I get her to do what I say a lot of the time. She's getting smarter as she grows older, though; I may have to start looking for a new lackey soon. For now, however, she'll do.

Together I tried to push for us to be called by the acronym APO, but that was ruined by complaints from Filipino vocal group the APO Hiking Society saying that it was copyright violation. It's probably just as well; to quote Azrael, "That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. I'm already around you two nutjobs for much longer than necessary; I don't need anymore ties that involve godawful abbreviations."

Delightful, isn't she?

Oh, wait; there are two fairly new additions to our sorry bunch. Juice is our cousin and becoming a frequent companion of mine when I'm camping out in front of arenas. A fan girl, yes, but she still has a lot of work before she reaches my level. Confusingly enough, she doesn't seem to want to. Anyway, she will turn up often within these accounts.

And Azrael, too busy doing nothing, it seemed, decided to hire a personal assistant. Kelsey, however, is a nitwit. Sure he gets everything done and sure you can boss him around like the spineless twit he is from time to time, but he's an absolute pain in the ass as well. Why? Simply put, no one likes the whiny voice of reason. Needless to say, we very rarely get along.

There are, however, more than a few nuances to our fledgling group, and two notable ones are Peaches and Ginger, fraternal twin sisters. Peaches is the brains behind the outfit, but it's not as impressive considering Ginger is as dumb as a box of rocks. They wouldn't ordinarily pose much of a threat if not for the fact that they're obscenely loaded due to their daddy's dough, and they have hired help in the form of their competent yet very greedy assistant Colin.

Let's see, what else…? Oh, right, my haunt. I live in a modest abode consisting of two main parts: my Jericho shrine and my laboratory. Yes, I have a shrine – what self-respecting fan girl doesn't? It has taken me nearly five years to build it up to the massive collection that it is today. Of course it would be much bigger had I not accidentally set fire and/or blown it up with the rest of the place a couple of times. Well, that comes from handling dangerous chemicals in the lab. All in the line of work.

What work, you say? What, being WWE's most dreaded and insane fan girl doesn't take a lot of work? With my responsibilities to my beloved Chrissie and the rest of the stars other stuff like school and sleep seem insignificant in comparison.

Anyway, that is merely an overview, dear reader. If this alone has freaked you out, then I find it hard how you stumbled across it in the first place, considering it is nestled in a massive nest of other fan girl muck and musings. However, if you are intrigued then, as the saying goes, you ain't seen nothing yet. For now, this is Pyper, saying that my fingers hurt from typing and being sugar high is only a state of mind. Until my next account.


	2. Pyper Heart Chrissie

Chapter two. A little sidenote about the title; it was originally supposed to be 'When Pyper Met Chrissie', after that very well-known movie Star Wars (joke), but after some thought we went with 'Pyper Heart Chrissie', since one of us (Azrael) got a kick out of 'I Heart Huckabees' so much. Relevance to actual chapter? None. But enjoy.

Date Uploaded: 18 August 2005

**Chapter 02: Pyper Heart Chrissie**

If you, darling reader, have not yet realized that I am utterly and completely in love with one Chris Jericho, then you obviously did not read the first chapter very well. Go back and do so now.

But if you have, then we can continue. My long, wonderful, and quite MUTUAL affair with my Chrissie started in the summer of 2000. May, to be exact. Don't look at me like I'm an idiot; it was in the Philippines and there we have our summer holidays between end of March to early June. ANYWAY, I can quite accurately say that Azrael led me to him. I was quite taken with the Rock back then, yes, when he was facing off against the McMahon-Helmsly Regime. I probably would have given Chrissie only a few spare moments of my attention had Azzie not casually said, "Jericho's not bad looking, actually."

That line started it all. While now Azrael may deny that she ever uttered those words, even under the threat of a heavy, painful death involving chopsticks, I can honestly tell you that it was her fault. From then on I had eyes only for the Ayatollah of Rock 'N' Rolla.

But how to get him to notice little old me? Well the first step I undertook was to find every single means of contacting him. E-mail, home address, postal address, home and cellular numbers, you name it. It wasn't that difficult, actually; all I had to do was approach one of those self-proclaimed Internet smarts. You know those guys; they report every minute detail that goes on in the world of wrestling to sites like 1wrestling-com and the now defunct 3strandwrestling-com.

The one I managed to get a hold of insists on being referred to only as 'Joe', probably because he's thirty-two and still living in his mom's basement. I don't know why he's so sensitive about it; his mom was a sweetheart who served us butter cookies in the sitting room.

"I want everything you have on Chris Jericho," I began, dipping a cookie into my tea. "Full name, past girlfriends, how many tooth fillings he has, the works."

"Let me get this straight, you traveled tens of thousands of miles to a different country in order to get information on that mouthy, egotistic bastard?" Joe said incredulously. "Don't you think that's a little, I don't know, screwed up?"

I twitched a little at the insult to my love and myself but decided to let it slide. For now. "Right, this from the guy who diligently waited in the pouring rain for a few up-skirt cam-shots of Sable three states over?"

"Completely different thing," he insisted hotly.

"Do you and your friend need anything else, Joe?" his mother called from the kitchen. She obviously did not call him Joe, but that is the name we have to stick with for this account. "More tea? Or how about some croissants and jam?"

"No, ma!" he yelled back insolently.

"Listen, do you have the stuff on him or not?" I asked impatiently.

"All right, let's say I do," he said, settling back into his seat and talking in a tone that blatantly said that he was humoring me. I HATE that; I may be dysfunctional, but I'm not slow and I most definitely an NOT stupid. "Information doesn't come cheap."

"Money is no object."

"Fine. My price is three grand."

I promptly sprayed him with his mother's special Darjeeling tea. As he yelled and jumped up and down, as if that would dry him or get rid of the stain that was to follow, I voiced my protest. "THREE THOUSAND? What are you, fucking DEPRIVED? You got lodging, food and other shit taken cared of for you and you charge THREE GRAND?"

"I thought money was no object!" he screamed back at me, even as his mother sweetly inquired what was going on from her place in the kitchen.

"Oh, right," I conceded, sitting back down. "Here, use this," I said, penning down the numbers of a credit card I knew by heart. Still cursing, he nonetheless took it and gave me what I needed. Of course I had to give Azrael a wide berth for a few days after that for using her credit card again. She's funny about stuff like that.

Moving on, I had the information that I needed. Well, I was cautious about a full frontal tactic on my target. I went for the subtler approach first, and that was to do what no doubt hundreds of thousands of other fans have done in the past. I contacted him via e-mail. And at his house. And sent a few letters by snail-mail. I might have also rang him up a few times. My patience was finally rewarded when a large envelope arrived in the mail with my name on it. I knew this was it. This was recognition. Front row tickets? An invitation to meet at where the next WWE show would be? 

I had to share my joy, and so I ran into my noticeably smaller place back then, still devoid of both shrine and lab. "Finally!" I declared triumphantly to Azrael, who was busy rummaging through my stacks of torture videotapes. "It only took 327 e-mails, 77 letters, 121 phone calls and ten singing telegrams for Chrissie to send me a reply!"

"I don't believe it," the ever-pessimistic Azrael said, straightening up and taking the envelope from me. "Let me see that."

She tore it open and pulled out a sheaf of papers, quickly shuffling through them while I took the opportunity to sigh dreamily. "Pyper, this is a restraining order," Azrael said flatly. "You've been ordered to stay at least a hundred miles away from Christopher Keith Irvine at all times for the next four months. You're also forbidden to contact him within that given period of time."

I continued to sigh. "I knew he loved me."

"Pyper, did anything I just say sink in?"

"When does it ever?"

She made a noise of displeasure and tossed the papers on the table. "All right, smart-ass. You had better stick to the terms of that fucking document because I am NOT bailing you out of it if you break them. Do you understand?"

"I'm too happy to even pretend I agree."

"PYPER!" she yelled. "The lard is fizzing and little fairy people are dancing around giving praise to the magnificent man they call the Lionheart, and you're standing there looking absolutely perfect for the occasion!" at least I think that's what she said afterwards; I kind of tuned her out for a while. I do that often, it helps put up with her.

After that thoroughly entertaining episode, I knew what I had to do. We had to meet face to face. The evil that is Azrael tried to stop me, though, by getting O-Gee to 'mistakenly' lock me in my room and feed me sedatives that could have put a horse out cold. But I persisted. And on that one Monday night in June the two of us met for the first time.

Two unconscious guards and one Jeff Hardy later, I was backstage. I believe I may have gotten in trouble for that last one, I can't quite remember. Anyway, after claiming to be a magazine reporter with a VIP pass made out of McDonalds Happy Meal boxes, I was busted by the first crewmember I met. I had to use chloroform on her too. Finally I hit the locker room showers. Don't give me that look; Chrissie just happened to be there at that exact moment, it's not like I spied on his habits and meticulously calculated for two hours just to time it.

For anybody who is wondering, yes, I have pictures and no, I'm not sharing. Chrissie belongs to ME, remember?

It was love at first sight. Or maybe it was first glomp. You know the sensation of impulsively doing the first good thing that pops into your head and believing that it is the absolute, positive thing to do, right? Fan girls get that a lot. I know, I know, I am THE fan girl, as I've already stated, but I'm not exempt of this. So I did the most logical thing; I squealed and fairly flew over to him to wrap my arms around his waist.

I'll never forget the first thing he said to me. It was, "Pyper, it's you! I've waited for you for so long!" Or maybe it was, "Who the FUCK are you and what the FUCK are you doing in the shower area?" Either way it was music to my ears.

After that it was a bit of euphoric haze… I think he swept me off and took me out to a movie, and dinner, and then flew me to Paris with the Eiffel Tower and the gondolas and, and…

Considering I came down from the natural high to find a grumpy Azrael bailing me out of jail for about the seventeenth time that year, I had to ask her for the actual facts. According to her story, which I have no doubt is extremely faulty but I will record for the heck of it, this is what happened.

She claimed that she arrived at the station to find Jericho having just finished filing a complaint and making sure that I was taken in. After finding out that Azzie was my sister, he started yelling at her. "That cracked-up, dodgy, sugar-junkie that you call your sibling just tried to MOLEST me while I was in the showers, do you know that? That's about a 100.04 miles TOO NEAR for my liking, and for the restraining order I filed against her too! Don't you have a leash for her or something?"

"Don't tell me a big, strong guy like you is traumatized over having been glomped in the nude by an overzealous fan girl," Azrael responded nonchalantly.

"You and that brat will be hearing from my lawyers," Jericho snarled and began to stalk away.

"Oh, I don't think you should be doing that," Azrael said smoothly, stopping him in his tracks.

Chrissie turned to face her. "Oh yeah? This should be good for a laugh. And why is that?"

"Because our counter suit will be pretty damning," Azrael said, beginning to fish out the documents needed for my bond. She was used to the procedure. "Think about it, Jericho. You, naked, in the showers, with an underage girl, both of you soaking wet. Not a pretty picture, is it?"

"You can't be serious," Chrissie sputtered out. "She knocked three people unconscious backstage and sneaked in on me, violating the order! You wouldn't have a leg to stand on!"

"Images can be infinitely more damaging than words," Azrael said. "And if I know Pyper well enough, which I unfortunately do, she will have photos to document this highly disturbing event. You better hope the water wasn't cold."

He glared at her. "You… you…"

"The name is Azrael, Jericho. I suggest you remember it," Azzie said, before leaving to fetch me.

And that is what is alleged to have happened. Frankly I liked my version better. Either way no lawsuits sprung up and Chrissie changed all his addresses and numbers, which kept me away from him for about three days. He's done it quite a few more times over the years, but as Ayla Fisher said to Vince Vaughn in The Wedding Crashers, 'I'll FI-IND YOUU!'

And I always have.

That's about it from me now, time to feed the test tarantulas before they start eating each other again. Until next time, this is Pyper saying that Jack Thompson and his 'Peaceaholics' should be put in the next Grand Theft Auto game in a side mission where you can run them down. Sweet poetic justice. Goodbye for now.


	3. Pyper Versus Trish Part 1!

Another update! Nice to see that people are enjoying this psychotic piece of... something. Not much to say about this chapter except that there is some Trish bashing but done in the nicest way possible. Yes, that is a blatant contradiction of terms but we honestly didn't know how to put it. But here's chapter three.

Date Uploaded: 20 August 2005

**Chapter 03: Pyper Versus Trish (Part 1!)**

Salutations, oh avid readers. Oh come on, admit it. Now that you've come back for the third installment you've been hooked. What can I say? I'm hard to resist.

Now I've had many rivals in my lifetime. There are the ten thousand other fan girls who fancy Chrissie, and I've had a few ugly run-ins with some of them. There was Stephanie McMahon, back when she was Stephanie McMahon-Helmsly and suspiciously too enthusiastic about her feud with Chrissie for my liking. There was also that unfortunate incident with Mike Baldo's, a.k.a. Insaneiac's, fan girl side that had gone into withdrawal symptoms after Jeff Hardy was released and subsequently went after my Chrissie(1). Kelsey is less of a rival than a pain in the neck, so he doesn't quite count.

But there is one person who I shared a memorable six months of bitch fights with, and that is Trish Stratus. This was back in the days when Christian and my Chrissie had bet a Canadian dollar on who would be able to sleep with Lita or Trish first respectively. Remember that? I do. My wall still has the claw marks I made.

Anyway, I was peacefully watching RAW one evening during said period of time along with O-Gee. Chrissie then appeared on screen and I settled into my seat, content to drool for that time. Imagine my horror when he started to profess his love to the ho—I mean, Trish, outside the ladies' shower area. I promptly cracked my teeth on a rock bun O-Gee had experimentally made and let out a howl that the squirt claims several dogs on our street joined in.

"It's a dream, it's got to be a dream!" I wailed on the phone. "Chrissie doesn't love her, Chrissie loves ME! She's a slut who's only worth a Canadian dollar, he's said so himself! Why then? WHY would he suddenly do a three-sixty and devastate me like this?"

"Pyper, you have got to put me off your speed dial, because I really could care less," Azrael responded in her regular monotone. "And incidentally that would be a one-eighty, not three-sixty."

"Do you think I give a shit about math right now?" I snapped at her. "I'm having a love crisis; you're my sister, you're supposed to be willing to lend an ear to stuff like this!"

"And in the twenty years that you've known me, when have I ever exhibited any fondness to do that?"

"Good point. Oh well; will you help me capture Chrissie again? I think he needs more reminding about who he's really supposed to be with, and another two days in my lab with me ought to do it."

"Goodbye, Pyper," and my ever-caring sister hung up on me.

Since it was clear that I would be receiving no help from Azzie on this, I decided to go with O-Gee. Of course after only about five minutes of trying to explain my brilliantly crafted plan to the twerp, she asked if she could play Dynasty Warriors instead. Just my luck to have sisters like them.

So I turned to my cousin, Juice. "I don't know, Pyper," she said, eating her pancakes. We had met for breakfast at a café down the street. "Don't you think it seems a little uncharacteristic of Jericho to suddenly start running around and declaring love to, well, to any woman?"

"Precisely. I'd find it more believable if he started to profess his love to men," Kelsey interjected, chugging down his orange juice.

I glared at him irritably. "What the fuck are you doing with us again? Because I certainly didn't invite you!"

"Hey, it's not like I wanted to be here either," he snapped back at me. "But O-Gee's at the dentist and Azrael attended some evil genius writing seminar. That left no one to baby-sit you and make sure that you didn't get yourself into all kinds of shit."

"Hey, I happen to be sixteen and do NOT need babysitting!"

"And you took this job willingly?" Juice asked Kelsey sardonically.

"Hell no. But the overtime pay is sweet," he said.

"Hello, back to my problem, please?" I ordered, stamping my foot under the table. "I've talked to four people about this dilemma now and Juice is the only one who's given me an answer that's remotely pleasing to my tastes!"

Juice sighed. "Listen, Pyper, I'm not telling you to run over and abduct Jericho again, so don't even try to pin that on me. What I'm saying is that he's acting a little weird even for himself and that you should see first where this goes. I mean let's try to think logically here, Jericho and Trish? What're the odds?"

"Pretty good," Kelsey responded, garnering a dirty look from Juice. "Considering in the past we've had Trips and Trish, Rock and Trish, Jeff and Trish, Vince-freakin'-McMahon and Trish… I could go on and on."

At that I stopped in mid-bite of my jelly-covered hotdog sandwich. Something clicked and all of a sudden it all made sense. "Wait, that's it. Why would Chrissie so unexpectedly declare his love to the biggest slut in the back when he knows that it'll go nowhere and that I'd be upset? It's to GRAB MY ATTENTION! My poor Chrissie thinks I'm neglecting him and he's trying to make me jealous with this stupid charade! It all makes sense now!"

"Uh huh, and what was it he said to you the last time you saw him, all, oh, three days ago? I believe it was, 'Get off my front lawn, you looney!'" Kelsey said, but I ignored him.

"Okay, lets say that's it," Juice said, more willing to believe my theory than the monkey that sat to my left. "Just promise me that you're not going to run around trying to brainwash him again, all right?"

"What for?" I cried, ecstatic. "I already know he loves me! This proves it!"

Now I'm not completely irrational; I was content to settle matters with my Chrissie and Chrissie only, treating Trish only as an unwilling third party. That was until the WHORE—er, I mean, Trish, started to actually return his affections. Can you believe that backstabbing little bitch? The nerve! Well, I most definitely was not taking that sitting down.

Anybody who's seen Trish for about two minutes on TV will immediately notice the horrendous amount of makeup she smears on her face every show. Paying Jan, the makeup lady, out of my own (meaning Azrael's) pocket, I managed to trade her blushes and eye shadows and lipsticks for some of my more noxious mixtures. During the championship match she had that night she broke out in hives in the middle of the ring, and only kept the belt due to the fact that Molly disqualified herself by choking Trish out on the bottom rope. Me? I sat back on my couch eating Skittles and snickering.

I thought for sure the disfigurements left by that on her face, more so than usual, would turn Chrissie off. It didn't. I was flabbergasted. So I tried different tactics; I mixed green and orange dye into her shampoo, I spread rumors that she had formerly been a man, and I scared her shitless by writing, 'STAY AWAY FROM CHRISSIE' on a wall of her bedroom one day in blood. Okay, so it wasn't actually blood; if she had taken a lick she would have found out that it was tomato sauce. We had a surplus of it that time.

But somehow she figured out who it was and this time managed to track me down. I was more than a little surprised to see Trish turn up at the front door, her face still splotchy, green and orange clumps in her hair. She held up a picture. "You did this, didn't you?" she demanded, showing me a photo of her vandalized bedroom wall.

"What?" I feigned innocence. "Of course not. Why would you accuse me of something like that?"

"Because you signed the fucking thing!" she screamed, pointing. I looked; after the message there was indeed a 'LUV PYPER' in the bottom right corner. I knew there was a reason I had to stop compulsively signing things.

I rolled my eyes and gave a shrug. "Oh, THAT."

She was pretty angry, however; in fact, I think she was purple in rage. Or that might have just been the ineffective face paint she used to hide the hives. "You're the one who's responsible for putting me through all this shit the past few weeks, aren't you? Why, just because Chris Jericho is showing interest in me?"

"Correction, he is not showing interest in you. He is trying to make moi jealous," I answered. "I mean think about it, why go after you when he already has me?"

Trish snorted at that. She actually snorted. "You? Please. You're nothing but a deluded little fan girl with a creepy obsession. Face it, sweetheart, he'd rather have someone of actual substance. Now here's a slap of real life; I'm sending you the bill for EVERYTHING you've damaged – my hair, my face, my bedroom wall, everything." She smirked. "Consider yourself lucky that I didn't decide on a lawsuit instead. Now if you excuse me, I have a dinner date with Chrissie."

That did it. With a snarl of pure rage I flew at her, tackling her just as she turned around and bringing us both down on the grass. "NO, HE IS MY CHRISSIE! HE BELONGS TO NO ONE BUT ME! AND ONLY I GET TO CALL HIM CHRISSIE, BEE-YOTCH!"

"Azzie, Pyper's attacking someone again!" O-Gee's panicked voice called out from the door. ""It looks like the Mohawk-punker guy from two houses down!"

"Let her, then," Azrael's indifferent drawl came from inside. "That little bastard keyed my car last week. He says it was an accident but I don't believe it."

"Get her OFF ME!" Trish then shrieked as I yanked at her hair and attempted to pull it out. The girl had strong roots.

"Whoops, my mistake," O-Gee said. "It's Trish."

"What?" Azrael sounded surprised. She still didn't come out, though. "Meh. I don't care either. Tell her to go for it."

At that moment the killjoy Kelsey pulled up in the driveway with our Chinese takeout and proceeded to pull me off the HO— er, I mean, Trish, saying something about lawsuits and intent to cause bodily harm. Trish managed to stumble off, but not without Azrael's massive black Labradors, Hughey and Mooney (which I call them as their actual names are such a bore), barking after her. It seemed she forgot to tie them up that day.

But that was just the beginning; our little feud got much worse. I'd continue but this chapter is long enough as it is and O-Gee is halfway in the freezer looking for more ice cream. I should fish her out before she gets frostbite and Azzie yells at me again. I'll have to finish this tale in the next one. Until then, this is Pyper saying money is the source of all wealth and I just overshot my word quota. Goodbye for now.

(1)An old running joke with fellow Fanfiction-net author, Insaneiac.


	4. Pyper Versus Trish Part 2!

  
Well, chapter four. This took a while to finish, under the sole reason that neither of us could bring ourselves to work on it. We expect to bring you a few more chapters while we ride on this unexpected burst of inspiration. So, enjoy.

Date uploaded: 22 October 2005

**Chapter 04: Pyper Versus Trish (Part 2!)**

Coming off from the last chapter, I was talking about how Trish Stratus and I got into a bitch fight to end all bitch fights. I could recap, but that would entail more typing and redundancy, both of which I'm completely against. In other words, I'm feeling lazy, so I suggest you just read the previous chapter to get up-to-date.

So, continuing from where I left off, Trish was running away, to quote JR, 'like a scalded dog', being, um, chased by two vicious dogs. Kelsey was about to have a fat lip courtesy of yours truly and Azrael was yelling for the damned Chinese takeout. They dragged me in, fed me and assumed that calmed me down. It didn't.

I had to stop Trish. What I had done to her previously would be child's play compared to what I had planned in store. No one crosses the awesomeness that is Pyper and gets away with it.

My brilliant plan needed a few things to succeed. One, I needed to rent two hotel rooms. Two, I needed to hire three people to pose as a bartender, a hottie and a not-so-hottie respectively. Three, I needed to lease a shitload of recording equipment. And four, well, if I told you what number four was right now it would probably give it all away. Of course all of the above required funding. Once again this was where Azrael came in and no, she wasn't all that happy. You'd think she'd lighten up about stuff like that.

ANYWAY, everything took a little time to set in motion. In that period the SLUT—I mean Trish, did all she could to eventually wrangle my Chrissie away from me completely. She made disgusting googly, lovey-dovey eyes at him at ever WWE show, bought him a ridiculously expensive watch, dragged him off to goodness knows where so that I had to scramble to keep track of him, and dozens of other little tactics that made me just want to RIP her blonde head off.

Ahem, er, moving on. Seeing as Trish had yet to see Juice, I employed her as the bartender and she agreeably agreed to work for free. Kelsey tried to argue that he passed as a hottie, until O-Gee blessedly reminded him that Azrael had dropped off her canines at his place and had made it a point to leave them in the same room that housed his mint condition Star Wars figurines. That got him running.

I then found myself a suitable hottie in the form of CM Punk. To be honest I wasn't quite sure who on earth he was when I first heard the name, but his fan girls happily vouched for him and I supposed he fit the bill, in that Jeff Hardy-esque kind of way. And, well, we all know Trish had this thing for the younger Hardy way back when. Oh wait, I forget that she has a thing for anything with a penis. Right, right, too many underhanded jabs, I'll try to lighten up. Not.

The role of his anti-thesis was filled in by Matthew Bloom, better known as A-Train, coincidentally half of Trish's former sketchy tag team, T&A. Hey, the guy needed work. Fortunately this entailed no wrestling whatsoever.

So with all the factors in play I set the plan in motion.

The hotel was a Marriott, and other than that I will give no more information. Apparently WWE was on budget cuts that time. Anyway, having cleared the mini-bar in Trish's room of anything heavier than a root beer, the HO—er, I mean Canadian diva, predictably headed down to the hotel bar soon enough.

From my vantage point in one of the rented rooms on the sixth floor, I had hooked up my various gadgets to the security cameras and thus had a visible view. I had no audio support down in the bar, however, and so I had to rely on the details Juice gave to me after everything had been finished.

"So, what'll it be?" Juice asked calmly, polishing a glass. It was the perfect, stereotypical bartender pose, although she had complained that the little bow tie had been overkill.

"An aloha martini, please," Trish said, slipping onto a barstool. She looked around the room. "Slow night, huh?"

"Yeah, well, it's a Tuesday," Juice said with a shrug. "Uh, could you repeat that order, please?"

"Um… I'm sorry, but I don't how to make that…" Juice said.

Trish sighed. "Okay, how about a butterscotch martini?"

Juice shrugged. "Er, I'm not too sure about that one either." Later she told me that at this point she probably should have read that bartending book I lent her. Damnit.

"Caramel? Cherry lemon? Irish kiss? French silk? Piña colada?" Trish tried again and again, with Juice shaking her head after each one. "Fine. What do you know how to make?"

"I can give you a flaming orgasm," Juice answered, making quite a few people turn to them in surprise. "I shouldn't have said that so loudly, shouldn't I?"

Trish nodded wearily. "Right. I'll take that."

"Coming up," Juice said with a grin, moving off to make the drink.

Three seats to Trish's left was CM Punk. Considering this was over a year before he was signed to any type of contract with WWE, the fact he was there may have been construed as rather suspicious. Eh, I fixed that; I bought free drinks for anybody with WWE, with an understanding of the company and wrestling in general. Once again, Azrael was not happy with her credit card bill.

So, CM Punk, driven by my false promises to actually get him a WWE contract (hey, that was where the big bucks were, you can hardly blame the guy), jumped into his part. He broached those three seats to sit beside her, just as Juice came back with Trish's flam—, er, drink. "It's on me," he said.

Trish turned to look at him. "Sorry, do I know you?"

CM shrugged. "Well, we are kinda in the same profession. The name's CM Punk."

Trish thought about it then shook her head. "Sorry, doesn't ring a bell."

It was at this point that Juice realized she had forgotten to put the pill inside Trish's drink. She coughed and made gestures for CM to distract Trish. He gave her a confused look and then improvised, using the oldest trick in the book. "Hey, what's that?" he asked, pointing upwards.

Thankfully the lame ploy worked. Trish gullibly looked upward, allowing Juice to pop the tablets in her drink.

Kelsey freaked out upon hearing this afterwards. "You slipped Trish Stratus a roofie?"

"No," I answered, irritated. "There are numerous things wrong with your accusation. For one thing, I didn't do it, I asked Juice to do it. For another thing, she messed up and put at least three in her drink, not just one." He had to be placated at that.

But yes, Juice, in her haste, had crushed up at least three (to get it to dissolve quickly) in Trish's flam—uh, drink. "I don't see anything," Trish said, still staring up at the ceiling, feeling a little foolish at having fallen for that.

"Oh, right, I thought it was a hole or something," CM said with a shrug, trying to pretend he had just not resorted to that. The two of them both took a few sips from their drinks. CM put his down and turned to Trish, intending to win her over this time with his charm. "So, Trish—?"

That last part was said in startled exclamation, as Trish, showing that the effects of drink spiking are indeed serious, pitched forward onto the bar, smacking her forehead on the countertop. CM and Juice looked at her unmoving form dumbly for a moment, until Juice poked CM in the shoulder. "Well? What the hell are you waiting for? Get her out of here!"

CM, unaware that his role was now virtually useless as Trish was completely conked out, heaved the blonde up and proceeded out of the hotel bar with her, while Juice was left to give the excuse that the woman was flat drunk, despite having taken only a few sips from her flam—ah, drink.

The rest I was able to watch myself, as I had planted a camera that supported not only quality video footage but good sound in Trish's hotel room. From my place in the room below Trish's, I watched CM Punk enter the room, Matthew Bloom right behind him. The two of them went to work setting the place up while I sat on the bed and perfected my evil laugh. MWAHAHAHAHA. BWAHAHAHAHAHA! Ah, I'm getting better.

Phase three of the plan occurred the next morning. As I awoke, I was in time to see Chris Jericho appear at Trish's door. I myself had gone to his room while he was asleep and slipped a note under his door, asking him to come to Trish's room when he woke up, signed in the WHORE—um, I mean, Trish's name, of course. And so he dutifully turned up at six in the morning and knocked on her door. "Trish? Hurry, we're hitching a ride with Lita and Matt. They're downstairs with the rental."

Looking down he noticed the room key I had planted there for him. Isn't my Chrissie observant? Shrugging, he picked it up and put it into the slot, opening the door. "Trish…? OH MY GOD!"

Inside the room Trish managed to rouse herself, wiping a trail of drool by the side of her mouth at the same time. "Hmm? Oh, Chris, wait, I overslept, I…" she looked around.

Beside her on the bed, Matthew yawned and blearily opened an eye. "Oh, it's morning already?"

Matthew was shackled to the bed, his hairy form clad in nothing but a tiny leather brief, black choker with spikes and black boots. Trish had been dolled up in full dominatrix form, a whip still clasped in her hand. On the bed a variety of kinky toys were scattered around. "What the FUCK is going on here?" my Chrissie demanded, looking livid. He's so cute when he's mad.

"I have no idea…" Trish murmured, looking around in bewilderment. "Last I remembered I was at the bar with his punk, and the bartender gave me a flaming orgasm, and then there was darkness…"

"Oh come on, Trish, stop pretending like this is the first time you did this," Matthew said. "Remember those 'sessions' we had along with Test?"

"Shut UP!" Trish hissed at him.

"Hey, you had me gagged through the night, I'll talk if I want," Matthew said. "No, uh, can you help me out of these?" he indicated the shackles. "Chris? Little help, buddy?"

But Chrissie was hardly paying attention to them anymore. He was staring at me. Yes, me. He was riveted, he was hypnotized, he… strode across the room and ripped the camera from the wall. I guess I probably should have used something smaller than something the size of a tin lunchbox, huh? "I know what you're doing," he snapped into the camera. "And it's NOT going to work. Trish and I are devoted to each other, aren't we, baby?"

"Yes, we are," Trish said, quickly tossing the whip and getting off the bed, despite Matthew's pleas to be freed.

"Nice try, Pyper, but no cigar," Chrissie snarled, and then he threw the camera onto the floor. The screen in my room fizzed out.

"But she's EVIL!" I shrieked at the empty monitor. "She'll play you like an idiot and then rip your heart out and trample it! Can't you SEE THAT?"

The bathroom door opened and one of the chambermaids stepped out. "Um, it's clean," she said, indicated the toilet. "Anything else?"

"Yeah," I sighed. "Could you go into room 7012 and unshackle the big, hairy man chained to the bed? Thanks."

Okay, so my plan was a failure. I may be close to perfect but not everything in my life can be a success. I can accept that. What I can accept more, however, is that a few weeks later at Wrestlemania Trish Stratus turned on Chrissie for his good buddy Christian.

I love it when I'm right.

As revenge I sent stills of Trish passed out on the bed with Matthew chained beside her to the inboxes of the entire WWE company, other promotions, and fans whose addresses I procured from wrestling message forums. It was a big hit. I believe those pictures are still being passed around.

As for Chrissie, after Wrestlemania I sent him flowers with this on the card: 'Don't worry, Chrissie, I'm always here for you. Your number one fan, Pyper.'

MWAHAHAHA.


	5. Pyper and… Randy?

I cannot believe that the last time this was updated was almost a year ago. I am appalled by my own laziness. Eh, who am I kidding? By now this is practically standard fare. Longish chapter ahead as a lackluster peace offering.

Date uploaded: 30 August 2006

**Chapter 05: Pyper and… Randy?**

Greetings. I'm running out of clever things to say in my chapter introductions so I'll just jump into things.

As I have stated before, I have a lab, situated, maybe a little foolishly, right beside my Jericho shrine. Anyway, in it I try to concoct elaborate mixtures and weird gadgets not only to occupy and amuse myself but also to see how I can use them to gain whatever I'm obsessing over as of the moment. And, as you can probably guess, dear reader, Chrissie is top of my list.

Well, about the same time that Evolution started to crumble completely with the rift between Triple H and Batista, I came upon one of the biggest breakthroughs in my life. I created the tonic people have puzzled over and sought for ages. I managed to whip up a true, working, love potion.

I mean it, I did. Of course I didn't know it at the time, as when the concoction came out it was a vile brown-green color that made O-Gee run to the bathroom and puke at the sight of. I sure as well wasn't about to try it on myself so I decided to find a guinea pig to test it on. Hence I gave it to Kelsey.

I mixed a few drops of it into his soup one evening when Azrael had called him over in order to dictate to him her schedule for the rest of the month. As she was in the middle of wondering if she could weasel out of jury duty to snicker at cosplayers at an upcoming anime convention, Kelsey took two large spoonfuls of the soup and the potion took effect.

"You know, I probably wouldn't try to get out of jury duty so much if I could land a space on a murder trial," Azrael was musing as she sat down. "At least then I'll be able to keep my eyes open. Are you listening to me, Kelsey?" she demanded, looking at her personal assistant.

"More than you'll ever know," Kelsey said, this ridiculous, enraptured look on his face, taking Azrael's hand in his.

After that he tried to make out with her, which was effectively stopped when Azrael smacked him with an oversized bag filled with music CDs. She'd been out shopping that day. Anyway, I learned three things from the experience. One is that the potion actually worked. Two, I gave Kelsey two drops and it lasted for an hour. Three, watching Kelsey get belted with a shopping bag may be one of the funniest things I have ever seen in my life. But with the first two points of knowledge a plan began to formulate in my mind.

I already knew that Chrissie loved and adored me as much as I did him, but sometimes he had problems showing it. Like that time he told me that I was the bane to his existence instead of saying what he really meant, which was that I was the love of his life. And so I realized that this foolproof love potion was the perfect thing to help him along.

So I did what any good, loving fan would do. I poured an entire bottle into his coffee. If you wonder how difficult something like that can be my answer would be, well, not really. Tick off one too many crewmembers and watch your back, I always say. Those slighted one too many times are notoriously easy to buy off.

Anyway, the dude I paid off easily slipped the potion into the cappuccino he was stirring for my Chrissie. I was watching nearby, of course, ready to spring out the moment he took it in. God forbid my Chrissie accidentally turned around and the love potion took effect on somebody like Gene Snitsky. Well, Chrissie took the cup from the crewmember and had put it up to his lips when Randy Orton suddenly showed up.

"Damnit, I need a drink, thanks, Chris," he declared, swiping the cup from Chrissie's hand.

"Hey, jerky, that's mine," Chrissie snapped, making a grab for it. "What's wrong with you; first you think you're big enough to go toe to toe with the Dead Man and now you're taking away the coffee I bully crewmembers into making for me? Give me that."

Randy responded by moving it away from his reach. "Christ, it's coffee, not the Holy Grail. I'll even give you a buck for it," he said, lifting it to his mouth.

It was at that point that I shrieked and burst out of my hiding place. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, from Chrissie giving a cry of delight at seeing me (although it did sound rather high-pitched and possibly horrified), to me yelling out "NNNOOOOO…" to Randy dumbly arching his eyebrows and staring at me.

And yet through it all, that bastard still drank it. Every last drop.

Now I like Randy. He's nice to look at, in this pretty but not wholly that interesting way. Other than that I could care less about him.

That was about to change, albeit most unwillingly, when he fixed his eyes on yours truly. Randy dropped the cup and I could almost absurdly see the hearts twirling above his cranium as 'Close to You' by the Carpenters played in his head. That is some potent shit.

And it was to my extreme embarrassment, especially since it happened in front of my dear Chrissie, who I'm sure was absolutely furious after, that Randy dropped down to one knee and said, "I only know you as the nut who sometimes comes around to stalk Jericho along with that cousin of yours who is obsessed with me, but I think I love you. No, I KNOW I love you! Make me a happy Legend Killer and marry me!"

I stared about him for about a minute in stupefied horror before doing the first thing that came to mind – I bolted. That may have been the first and last time that I ran from the arena shrieking and of my own accord, instead of being thrown out.

As stated earlier two drops equals an hour of silly and highly shameful, or amusing, depends on which side you're on, intoxicated infatuation. I was aware that I emptied an entire freakin' bottle in that bloody drink, so I went about trying to do calculations. I managed to deduce that the bottle I used held approximately 251 drops in it. Shit. SHIT. That meant almost six days.

I was a bit panicky, and so I let the news slip to my dear older sister. Azzie, who had throttled me upon learning what I did to Kelsey, burst out laughing in this instance. "Serves you right."

"You're extremely helpful," I muttered.

"What did you really expect me to do? Be supportive? Please. Speaking of which, does Juice know about this?"

"Do I know about what?" Juice inopportunely took that time to walk into the room.

"Pyper accidentally fed Randy an entire bottle of some sort of love potion and now he'll be hopelessly besotted with her for six more days," Azrael immediately said, despite me frantically waving my arms at her for her to shut up.

Juice froze. Then she slowly turned to look at me. I bolted for the second time that day.

For five solid days I actually hid. I holed up in my room, ducked into trash bins, slinked in and out of dark alleyways and even bought a ticket to see 'Elektra' (bleargh) just so I could take cover at the cinema. Somehow, I thought through possibly some sort of psychic shit, Randy seemed to find me. He seemed to be everywhere, popping out of random places and always when I thought I was safe and least expected it. He was like that dog that just won't stop running over to keep humping your leg. Bad analogy? Meh, I've made worse.

To top it all off, when night hit and I was able to shuffle home wearily after a full day of playing hide and seek, I would come face to face with a snickering Kelsey and the ever infuriated Juice.

"Damn, Pyper, I can almost forgive you trying that shit out on me first just for the pure entertainment that this entire thing is giving me," Kelsey said, I believe on the fourth day, this huge grin on his face.

"Well I can't!" Juice countered loudly. "You know Randy's my hottie and having him running after you, even if by accident, is unforgivable!"

"Are you sure about that?" I asked, too tired by then to argue. I had spent most of the day in a Scientology lecture in a classroom somewhere, just to avoid Randy spotting me. Talk about boring beyond belief… purification and aliens…

"Yes, I'm sure!"

"I'll give you another bottle of the potion of the next batch I whip up if you leave me alone."

"Done, you're forgiven," Juice answered immediately, shaking my hand.

With having averted her wrath through my skillful negotiations, I now had to contend with the problem of my unwanted ardent admirer. I had basically only three hours left but was unable to spend it hiding underneath Azrael's bed as she found me and turned me out.

"Get the hell out. There is no way that I am letting you camp out here," she said as she was mercilessly kicking me out of her place.

"You know, you're a horrible older sister," I told her as scathingly as I could, only it was marred by the fact that I was dressed in a duck-patterned bathrobe and was clutching a spoon and a tub of yogurt. She slammed the door in my face.

"Pyper!"

I cringed, all too aware of who it was. Without bothering to turn around, I hightailed out of there as fast as I could, and seeing as I kept tripping over my bathrobe it wasn't very fast. I whipped out my cellphone and punched in a quick call, even as behind me Randy once again started to proclaim his love for me in a loud and exceedingly embarrassed way.

The phone was answered on the second ring. "Hello?"

"O-Gee!" I said frantically, now having dropped the yogurt and not appreciating my desert spilt all over the asphalt. "We have to move on to Plan B! Are you ready?"

"Maybe. What was Plan B?"

I fumed. "We went over this, pipsqueak. When I give the command you unleash the gaggle of turkeys to peck this blasted pretty boy chasing me to death! And the command is RIGHT NOW!"

"Oh, that," O-Gee said, as if it had just dawned on her. "Right. I didn't do that."

"WHAT?" I shrieked, only somewhat aware that I had run out onto the road and narrowly missed getting hit by a soccer mom driving an SUV. "And why the hell not?"

"I couldn't find that many turkeys," O-Gee whined.

I drew in a deep breath and was about to bellow as loudly as I could into the phone (which I confess Azrael does much better; I've never been able to copy the rage she manages to infuse into such a little object) when there was the ear-splitting screech of tires and a loud thump only a few meters behind me. A woman screamed and I came to a dead stop.

"He's dead! He's dead!" the screaming woman declared hysterically.

I turned slowly. While I had been fortunate enough to miss all the traffic on the roads, as I have extraordinarily good luck, something those who know me can attest to, Randy wasn't quite so lucky. A sports car driven by some guys who looked my age had come around the corner and apparently struck him right in the middle of his haze-filled rush towards me. Right now he twitched on the ground.

"Oh fuck, I hit someone," Sports Car Driver said, looking pale.

"You hit Randy Orton," a kid who had come up told him, apparently recognizing the figure on the ground.

"What?" Sports Car Driver blinked and looked. "Oh, him. Damnit, I'm going to get into a lot of shit for this, aren't I?"

I turned back to the phone. "O-Gee, tell Azzie and Kelsey to meet me at the hospital. I think Randy just snuffed it."

"Should I tell Juice?"

"Yeah. It'll give her a reason to try that new black dress she just bought."

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on your taste for the third generation Orton, Randy lived. He had only been grazed by the car and had gotten his ribs bruised and the wind knocked out of him. Over two hours later Azzie, Kelsey and I were standing at the foot of his hospital bed, Randy soundly asleep and me still in my duck-decorated bathrobe.

"There's a joke in here somewhere but I'm just too tired to be witty right now," Azrael said.

"I hope you learned something from all this," Kelsey suddenly said.

It took a moment before I realized that he was actually talking to me. I gave him an indignant glare back. "What was that supposed to mean? What exactly could I possibly take from this other than, 'If you want a gaggle of turkeys to show up when you want them to, don't ask your eleven-year-old sister to arrange it'?"

The bastard rolled his eyes at me. "Come on. This whole escapade with Randy, that's exactly how you act around Chris Jericho. Now that you've experienced it, you've got to have learned that having some love struck idiot invading your personal space day in and day out isn't an appealing way to face each day."

It was quiet as Azrael continued looking impassively at the sleeping Randy and I stared back at Kelsey. Then I told him, "That is the biggest, fucking hogwash I've ever heard from everybody. Azzie, you hired a real wanker here."

"I know. But the wanker has a point," Azrael replied.

Kelsey and I were about to clamor for her to take our respective sides when there was a groan from the bed and Randy slowly opened his eyes. I instinctively cringed and ducked behind Kelsey. Randy blinked and he seemed to register the three of us, his eyes darting from one face to the other. And then he finally said, "Who the fuck are you guys?"

"Great, the bastard's okay," Azrael said in a voice that ranged from indifference to sarcasm. "Can we get the hell out of here now?"

"Wait," I said, going over to look him in the eye. He frowned but otherwise gave no indication that he knew me. "So, Randy, you really have no idea who we are?"

Randy blinked, and then his face registered a light of recognition. "Wait, aren't you the nutjob who stalks Chris Jericho?"

That got him a sharp flick to the forehead that made him emit a yowl of pain. Kelsey dragged me out of the door before I could do any further damage. And that, thankfully, was the end of my escapade with Randy Orton.

As for the love potion, well, you're probably thinking that I might have destroyed the formula and all samples in a freak accident, but you'd be wrong. I still have it. And the Swooning Liquid, as it came to be known, will figure into more of my messed up chronicles.


	6. Chrissie’s Search for Pyper Part 1

Seeing as it's been a (loooong) while since the last update, a couple of things have happened, specifically to our account. O-Gee has hit this site's legal age and has officially been added to make up this trio. Whether she inputs anything worthwhile is something we'll just have to see.

Also, a little note before the chapter so that nobody gets confused - it's been a running joke in our stories that Chris Jericho never gets Azrael's name right, except for very few instances. Hopefully that won't confuse anybody who reads this chapter. Anyway, here's the (very loooong) overdue chapter six.

Date Uploaded: 05 February 2008

**Chapter 06: Chrissie's Search for Pyper (Part 1)**

Before I go on with this ridiculous tale I would like to specifically denote that the above title is incredibly misleading. In no way, shape or form did I willingly dive headlong into a search for the bane to my existence called Pyper. I was forcefully dragged into it against my will.

Yes, this is the one and only, the Lionheart, the Ayatollah, the First EVER Undisputed Champion, the Perpetrator of the Highlight Reel, Master of the Walls, and an undeniably Sexy Beast, Chris Jericho. Why I am putting my pen down to the annals of these so-called chronicles despite my revulsion for the original author will be revealed towards the end of my narration.

Being an international wrestling and rock 'n' roll icon, I, Chris Jericho, have at times been subjected to overzealous fans who, naturally, can't get enough of Y2J. For the most part I can handle the groupies and the squealers and the occasional glompers, but there are very few who rival the obsessive fan girl that is Pyper.

Pyper is my self-proclaimed biggest fan and soulmate, having appeared in my life sometime in late 2000. From then on she has stalked me, flooded my inbox, mailbox, voicemail and cellphone with her declarations of love, forcing me to change addresses and numbers on numerous occasions, and pilfered various of my personal artifacts for what I have come to know as her shrine to yours truly. Despite filing restraining orders and fleeing the country seven times, I have never been able to shake off this nutjob.

What's more is that she's introduced into my life another personage I find just as infuriating, but for completely different reasons. That would be Amara. No, that's not right. Adelia? No, that's not it either. Azalea? Eh, close enough. Well, Pyper's older sister with a mouth that can fire off endless insults without seemingly tiring. She and I have butted heads constantly over the keeping of Pyper, and through my luck I have somehow acquired the dry-witted banshee as an arch-nemesis. There have been various opportunities when we have tried to get along; none of them have worked.

So it was more than a little surprising when I received a call out of the blue one Friday morning. The number on my cellphone was unfamiliar so I answered it cautiously. "Yeah?"

"Have you seen Pyper?" the unfortunately recognizable sharp voice asked.

"What?" I snapped back, stunned and miffed at her tone.

"Pyper," Amelie repeated impatiently. "She's been gone since yesterday morning. I figured she would be bothering you. So have you seen her or not?"

"If I had, don't you think I would have found a way to contact you to get her off my back by now?" I pointed out, still irritated.

She groaned. "I thought you would say that. Damnit, where can she be?" And with that the call was ended as abruptly as it was started.

This brief conversation only served to fuel my irritation with the angel antithesis and I spent the rest of the day in bad temper. It was just right before bed that night when I received another call and, being as I was bruised from having been thrown around the ring that night (bear in mind this happened back when I was still working for WWE prior to my self-imposed two-year sabbatical), I answered it unthinkingly. "Hello?"

"I have the girl," an automated voice announced darkly, as darkly as a cliche could be announced. "Have the prototype in a bag by tomorrow at noon and I'll ring in the morning with further instructions. Do as I say or Pyper will be taking a long walk off a very short plank, if you know what I mean." With that horribly lame threat the phone then went dead.

I looked at my cellphone with more than a little confusion, then decided to shrug it off and crawl into bed. So the psychotic little airhead had gotten herself kidnapped and was being held for ransom, big deal. It was hardly my problem. Two hours later, though, I was still awake. Pissed-off beyond all reason, I snatched my phone and called the person who was second to the top of my list of people I once swore never to contact of my own accord.

"So the kidnappers called you?" Adrianne said dryly, sipping some sort of iced coffee drink piled high with whipped cream. Despite all warnings of logic to the contrary, I had arranged to meet her at a cafe quarter to noon the next day. "Why would they call you?"

"How the fuck should I know?" I retorted, putting down my mocchiato. "I didn't exactly have time to ask questions. Speaking of which, what's this prototype thing that this guy is talking about?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," Avery replied with a shrug. "I'm just hoping that he or she isn't referring to anything Pyper has festering in her 'lab'. I hate going down there."

I confess that I choked a little on my drink. I had heard some rumors about Pyper's so-called 'laboratory' and none of them were pretty. At that point, as I was trying not to visualize what that place could hold, my cellphone rang once again. I answered it before Aurora could get her hands on it. "What?"

"Good, you're listening," the same automated voice from last night said. "Now pay attention; I won't repeat the rest of my instructions again."

"Hang on just a minute, jerky," I interrupted, determined to take control of the situation, and motioning for Alicia to shut up in the process. "First we want to know that Pyper," I resisted the urge to shudder at mentioning her name, "is absolutely safe."

The robotic voice gave a human-like sigh. "Oh fine, here she is."

A moment later an all too familiar painful shriek reverberated in my eardrum. "Azzie! Help me!! These unstable WEIRDOES in black ABDUCTED ME and—"

"Persephone, for God's sake, stop screaming in my ear!" I yelled.

"CHRISSIE!!" she promptly screamed joyously back. "Oh I knew you cared, I just knew it! You're going to be my knight in shining armor and save me from these—mmph!!"

"There, are you happy?" the automated voice came back on, sounding like music after Pyper's strident shrieks. "The fan brat is fine. Now you will interrupt no more and listen to me."

"I 'will interrupt no more'?" I echoed. "Where the hell do you come from? The 17th century?"

Mr Roboto, as I will now refer to the automated voice, ignored that and went on talking. "You will get her back safe and sound provided that you meet my conditions. You have what I asked for, I presume?"

"No, I don't have what you asked for," I snapped.

"And why is that?" the voice scolded.

"Because I don't have the slightest idea what the hell you're talking about!" I yelled back in frustration, trying to keep Amelie away from the phone as she was trying to make a grab for it again. "Are you talking about that prototype thing you mentioned last night?"

"Don't play dumb," the voice snapped, as much as an automated voice could snap. "She has been in development of it for two years. Surely one as close to her should know about it."

"Well I don't," I barked back. "As for being close to the psycho, well, that topic is subject to heavy debate."

"Oh just give me that!" It seemed that Alison was also as aggravated as I was and hence yanked the phone from my grip. "All right, dickwad, this is Azrael, the abducted psycho's big sister and one extremely busy person. Now name your terms on the return of my sister because I'll be damned if I miss House for this."

"You're a saint, you know that?" I told her sarcastically.

She waved me off and listened to Mr Roboto on the other end. "All right, prototype, yeah, you sound like a fucking record. You, write," she aimed that last part at me, tossing a pen and pad my way from her handbag.

A bit begrudgingly I began to write, as I figured that taking dictation from her without much fuss would make this go faster. Alisha made affirmative noises every now and then, and then her face suddenly clouded over and I braced myself for the obligatory outburst.

"Pyper… is… a… fucking… NUT!!" Aurora snarled as she punctuated each word by chucking various contraptions out behind her.

I was less than pleased at having to dodge her unorthodox ammo, which consisted of items like leafy yams in jars and something that looked suspiciously like burnt piece of a fire hydrant, much less at the fact that we were rooting around in Pyper's infamous laboratory.

The psycho's lair was much worse than I had imagined; upon letting ourselves in the first thing I saw was the massive shrine dedicated to myself. The room had been wallpapered with posters of me at different highlights and stages of my career, scribbled over with words of undying love in some sort of pink ink. There was also the Jeritron 5000 that had been stolen from one of our production trucks three months back, photographs taken of me on street and unawares, plus a collection of boxers that had disappeared from my gym bags over the course of years. Before I could freak out over this sight, Avery dragged me down a dark hallway and a short flight of stairs into the lab.

This place was no less unsettling than the first. Chemicals of weird colors bubbled in glass tubes, a polished examination table not unlike the ones used for autopsies took center stage, and a cluttered desk piled high with drawn diagrams and hasty scribbles was on one side. To the other was a bunch of high-tech equipment including a computer with a dolphin desktop (a welcome respite to seeing my face) and a confounded-looking device that Alma gleefully told me was Pyper's Y2J Tracker. I was not happy.

"Of all the fucked up inventions Pyper has concocted in this godforsaken place, this one takes the cake!" Adrienne continued on her rant, and on her scavenging of the lab shelves. "Aha, here it is!" she pulled something out of the cabinet in triumph.

"What is that? An electronic anklet?" I asked, trying hard not to move in case I touched something that was fatal or could scar me for life.

"As far as I can tell it was," she said thoughtfully, looking at the contraption. "At any rate Pyper had to wear it for a while after she violated your third restraining order on her."

"When you say a while, exactly how long would that be?"

"Four hours, give or take. That's about as long as she lasted before she hacked the goddamn thing off."

I pinched the bridge of my nose in an attempt to control my temper. "All right, I'm a little afraid of asking this, but what exactly does it do?"

"Well, our friend Mr Personality over the phone said that it's supposed to allow the wearer to be controlled by this smaller device, apparently by manipulating the muscles, only God knows how my sister managed to rig that function," Alana unclipped a compact remote from the anklet. "But considering Pyper's less than impressive track record with these things, there's an almost zero percent chance that it'll work."

"Oh great," I said sarcastically. "Oh well, no skin off my back. You take that to the other nutball who sounds like a straight C-3P0 yourself and get Phoebe back. I'm heading off before whatever lunacy has your family in its grip rubs off on me." With that I turned to leave that damning place.

"Hang on, Jericho," the witch called out. "I still think we should test it just in case. Here, catch," and she threw the anklet device at me.

I caught it and made a disgusted face. "You have got to be kidding me, Adora. There is no way I'm going to put that godforsaken thing on." I threw it back at her.

She caught it and sighed in exasperation. "Well a lone person can't take this thing for a test drive, there has to be at least two. So stop being disagreeable for the sake of being disagreeable and put it on," she threw it back at me.

"Right; if you think I'm going to willingly slip this on and have you fumble around with those controls on the off chance that it might work, then you've been breathing in too much exhaust fumes. Why don't YOU put it on?" I tossed it back to her.

"I am nobody's guinea pig," she said staunchly, and chucked it back at me.

"Well tough, because neither am I," I said, chucking it back at her. She fairly flung it back at me.

We would have played this bizarre game of catch for a generous period of time if at that point the door to the lab opened and the tool that Aretha calls her personal assistant walked in. He stopped and looked at the two of us, blinking stupidly. "What are you two—?"

"Kelsey," Amelia snapped, "What the hell are you doing here? I thought I told you to bring my dogs to the vet for their checkup."

"I did," he told her sharply. "I brought those monsters you call your pets to the vet, and they nearly chewed off all of my limbs in the process."

"And how did you end up here?" she demanded.

Kelsey opened his mouth, changed his mind, and then shut it abruptly.

"Well??" Azalea demanded, glaring at him in, I have to admit, a fiercely impressive way.

"Damnit, Junior, spit it out!" I finally yelled, irritated. "We don't have all day here!"

"Fine!" he said. "I know Pyper keeps a shitload of knockout gas, chloroform and even industrial strength sedatives, so I figured I would use some to tranquilize your insane canines before I carted them back to your place. Hey, I want to keep my fingers, okay??"

Alisha leveled a searing gaze at him, and I half–expected the poor idiot to burst into flames and incinerate into ashes. She opened her mouth and I was all too aware that what would follow would be a never-ending tirade involving threats of dismemberment and forced listening to all the Britney Spears albums. Despite the fact that it wouldn't be aimed at me, I still wasn't looking forward to standing there and listening to it. So I cut her off by chucking the mind control anklet back at her.

She caught it clumsily and turned to take her wrath out at me but then stopped when she saw that I was cocking my eyebrow in her PA's direction. Ashura gave me a puzzled look at first but then quickly caught on. We both turned to Kelsey, who caught our looks and asked nervously, "Uh, guys? Please tell me you're staring at me like that because I have something on my face. Guys?"

Fortunately Pyper's lab was completely soundproofed, so nobody heard that annoying twit's embarrassing girly screams as I held him down and Ariel snapped the anklet on him.

"All right, time to see if this actually works," Anemone said, taking the control and switching the device on.

"What the fuck is this thing?" Kelsey moaned from the floor.

"Make him stand up," I told Angelica.

She fiddled with the control knob a little bit and Kelsey promptly did an aerial cartwheel and landed in a split that made him emit another high-pitched yowl of pain. Alyssa looked at me. "Well, I guess that means it works… somewhat," she said dryly.

"Yeah. I think you broke your PA, though."

"Wouldn't be the first time," she switched the control off. "Well, time to get it to our friend the kidnapper, get Pyper and finally get this entire ordeal over with." She went over to pick up Kelsey.

"Tell me about it. I can think of more than a few better things I would rather be doing than hanging around you, like getting a colonic," I told her, starting towards the door. "Well, you're on your own now, Allegra. If you need anything, for God's sake please don't call."

I heard her sigh as I was leaving. "Oh all right, Jericho. I'd thank you for your help but we both know it would be insincere and therefore have no point."

"Nearly everything you do is insincere and therefore has no point," I told her and then ducked out of the room.

"Watch out for the dogs in the car, man!" Kelsey croaked out.

As it happened, the dogs were no longer IN the car and had managed to let themselves out, hence I spent fifteen excruciating minutes running from the hounds of doom before I could get to my own car and drive off. It also happened that that wasn't the last of what I would have to do for this entire unfortunate experience.


	7. Chrissie’s Search for Pyper Part 2

Part two here. It's been ready for quite a while but we couldn't seem to get around to post this chapter up. Anyway, here's the rest of it.

Date Uploaded: 26 March 2008

**Chapter 07: Chrissies Search for Pyper (Part 2)**

You know, I don't think I was ever commissioned for a second part. Nevertheless, seeing as if that nutjob Prudence took it upon herself to record it I would be reduced to some brain-dead fuckwit who happily returns all her psychotic admissions of love. As such I will continue, despite great reluctance on my part, I assure you.

To those who have not yet guessed, this is still the Ayatollah, the greatest icon to ever step in the squared circle and the undisputed KING of the World. Actually, frankly, if you hadn't guessed by the first paragraph in this chapter I really don't see why you're still reading.

But let's get on with the narrative so I can finally be rid of my unwanted story‑teller duties. When yours truly last left you the witch Angora was set to deliver that highly faulty body-control device to Mr Roboto and I was being chased off by two hound hells of doom that should never be loosed upon respective society, much like their owner. Once I managed to stumble back to my hotel room, bitten and bruised, I was convinced that my participation in this very suspect affair was over. Unfortunately, if I had been right I wouldn't be back for part two.

So at noon, when all I was looking forward to was some room service I would charge to Edge's credit card, my cellphone rang. Picking up the first thing I heard was Mr Roboto saying, "Where in the hell are you? Didn't I give you instructions to meet me at noon??"

"What??" I said indignantly. "Oh no, no, no, no, no, NO! Listen, junior, I've had my fill of this entire fucked-up circumstance and I have officially checked out! You can call that twisted little psycho's sister Antonia for further details because Chris Jericho is no longer taking your calls!" And I was in the process of slamming the phone down (or emphatically hitting the red end call button, but the previous line made more of a statement) when the automated voice spoke again.

"Oh, wow, so you really are Chris Jericho? I mean, I had my suspicions at first, and Pyper kept insisting that you were, but you never can believe a word these sisters say, so I thought that someone was just pulling our legs…"

"Wait, hold on…" I said, perplexed. "I've been meaning to ask, why did you contact ME about this is the first place, especially since you didn't know who I was?"

"Well your number was the last one on the redial list of Pyper's cellphone," Mr Roboto said. "We figured it to be someone close to her."

I shuddered. "Well you figured wrong. Hey, you have her cellphone, right? Look up the name 'Annabelle' there – she's got your precious prototype. While you're at it, mind deleting my number?"

"I'm assuming you mean Azrael?"

"Isn't that what I said?" all of a sudden my cellphone beeped. "Hang on, I have another call," I said, and before Roboto could say anything else I put him/her/it on hold. "Yeah, what is it?"

"Jericho," Alexandra's voice said sharply into my ear, "I've been trying to figure out your chicken scratch for the past half hour now and I can't for the life of me make out if you've written Friday's or Friendly's!"

"That's Figaro's, you infernal woman!" I roared into the phone. "Considering you've consumed enough coffee to water and kill a rainforest I would have assumed you could make that out!"

"Don't you yell at me, you puffed-up bird-head!" she retorted loudly. "You're the one who left me to slog it out myself instead of seeing the entire ordeal through! Why are you so pissed off in the first place??"

"Because I have our friend Mr Roboto on hold!" I snapped.

"Well that's convenient," she said. "Listen, tell that guy I'm not trekking another two blocks to meet him, especially not in these Bally shoes. I'm in Friday's, the one two streets away from Figaro's – tell him to meet me here."

"You want to argue the meeting place with the screwy guy who has your, admittedly equally screwy, sister?" I said to her, becoming impatient.

"Yes," she replied stubbornly. "I think I really did break Kelsey earlier so now he's incapacitated and I have no one to do my legwork for me. Now tell him that if he wants this goddamn thing then he'll have to come to me for it!"

With a growl I put her on hold and returned to the much more honeyed tone of Mr Roboto. "Alyssa messed up the instructions and she's now waiting for you in Friday's. She wants you to change the meeting place to there."

"What??" Roboto said, understandably flabbergasted. "She does realize that I still have her sister hostage, right?"

"Oh believe me, we went over that part," I said dryly. "She could care less. Now she's saying that if you want that blasted contraption you'll have to meet her there."

"Forget it," Roboto said, annoyed. "I'm the hostage-taker, me! I'm supposed to be in charge of the situation, and nobody dictates the meeting place other than ME! Tell HER that!"

This three-way conversation was becoming more asinine by the second, but I did put Mr Roboto back on hold and went back to Allyson. "Roboto says that—"

"NO," she said immediately.

"You didn't even hear the end of that sentence!"

"I didn't have to. The prick is refusing to meet me at Friday's, isn't he? Well tell him that if he's not here to make the trade within half an hour I'm leaving. He can shove it for all I care."

"Let me think, oh yeah, what about the little matter of YOUR SISTER??"

"So? I have another one. O-Gee can fill the void."

"Seriously, what in the hell is wrong with your family?"

"Oh shut up, Jericho, don't preach at me like your family members don't have their own issues. Besides, I'm tired," she said unfeelingly.

By then I was seething, and without another word put her back on hold and then returned to Mr Roboto. "That nauseating woman just said that—"

"Let me guess, she doesn't want to give, doesn't she?" Roboto said.

"Why won't either of you let me finish initial sentences??" I snapped. "Yes, fine, she doesn't want to give, you don't want to give – you know what, if it'll get the two of you accidents of nature off my ass and my fucking cellphone I'll be the go-between! Now I am going to see that damn woman to get the stupid device and then I'll meet you at Figaro's in twenty minutes where you trade it for my creepy, handsy stalker, understood??"

"I can understand you without all the yelling," Roboto said, miffed. "Fine, I'll wait, but you now owe me a mocha latte," and then he/she/it hung up.

I went back to Andrea. "All right, I'm going to deliver the device myself, so stay the fuck there at Friday's and wait for me to get it from you," I barked at her.

"Fine," she said insolently. "But for being a bigger ass than usual you now owe me a caramel frappe," and then she hung up.

It was sheer willpower that prevented me from flinging my cellphone at the wall, where it would have shattered into millions of expensive bits. Instead I pulled my coat back on and then once again left the invitingness of my room to barter with a couple of wackjobs.

Upon arriving at Friday's I found that Annamaria had gone ahead and ordered coffee anyway. Scowling, I walked up to her and demanded, "All right, give the device to me and then wait here if you must. I'll deposit your creepy little sister to you within the hour."

"Wait, Jericho," she said. She had been languidly stirring her cup of coffee but now that I was close enough to her I could see that she had that highly suspect gleam in her eye that all the sisters seemed to share when they were about to pull off something either incredibly smart or incredibly stupid, sometimes both. "I was thinking—"

I cut her off right there. "Oh no, whatever it is you have planned, you can count me the hell out. I've done enough shit for today thanks to you, Poppy and Poppy's fucked up abductor Roboto. All I want now is that stupid device, so fork it over, Ainsley," I said, holding my hand out to her.

She cocked an eyebrow at me. "You're not the only one this little escapade has inconvenienced, you know. Then again any inconvenience borne of Pyper seems to be daily occurrences for me. Nonetheless there was a lot of other shit I could have done today that didn't involve handing over a suspect device to a screwy kidnapper, or even working with you. Now I want a little measure of revenge, and if you're even half as pissed off as I am, which I suspect you are, you're going to want some too."

I gave her a long, calculating look before finally saying, "As long as you can assure that this is the absolute LAST fucking time the two of us ever work together."

"Oh without a doubt," she said dryly. "Collaborating with you is pretty much like planning a jewel heist with a ventriloquist's dummy."

"And just conversing with you is equal to performing an appendectomy on myself using a rusty penknife," I said. "Fine, what's your plan?"

So after the two of us sat down for what I foolishly thought was the last time I would ever enter into a pact with the hellish demon spawn, I headed off to Figaro's with the prototype.

Upon arriving there I was greeted by a guy with a smile that would have made a snake tiptoe warily. "Mr Chris Jericho. My superiors have been expecting you."

"Your 'superiors'?" I echoed. "Okay, that's it, I'm starting to feel like I'm in a really bad James Bond spoof. That, or I'm being Punk'd. I really can't tell which one is worse." I sighed and said, "All right then, lead me to Roboto."

"'Roboto'?" he inquired.

"Your 'superiors'," I repeated, rolling my eyes.

Still with that smile that could have shriveled daisies upon exposure, he led me to a booth in the corner with three occupants. One was a short and plumpish girl with a scowl on her face, another was a much taller and prettier girl who seemed to be smiling vacantly into space, and the third was bound, blindfolded and gagged and yet still trying to kick up a ruckus despite being restrained. How nobody within the café noticed this I have no earthly idea.

At that point the taller one shifted her attention from apparent nothingness and noticed us coming up. She gave a little squeal. "Ohmigosh, it's really him! Look, Peaches, it's really him!"

"Clam up, would you, Ginger??" her companion reprimanded, and then groaned. "Oh snap, now our little hostage knows who we are!"

Out of the corner of my eye I saw my escort roll his eyes. "Mr Chris Jericho is here with the prototype," he announced.

At that point the bound and gagged figure that I could only assume was Pyper started thrashing around even more in obvious excitement. She was stopped when Peaches roughly elbowed her in the gut. I heard Pyper let out a low groan. "Honestly, she is SO fidgety," Peaches complained. She turned to me. "So, where is it?"

"Mr Roboto, I presume," I said to her dryly.

"Roboto?" she asked, and then figured it out. "Oh that. I used a voice distorter over the phone. Was that the name you used to refer to me? A little unoriginal, don't you think?"

"I really don't think you should be throwing insults around with your captive hammering 'Hey Diddle Diddle' on the wooden floor," I said to her.

"So? Nobody's really noticed," she pointed out.

"And people wonder why my faith in humanity dies a little each day. Now can we get this over with?" I asked impatiently.

"Fine, fine," she snapped. "Give the prototype to Colin so he can hand it over to us and then we'll release Pyper."

I looked at the largely disconcerting man to my left, still with that untrustworthy smile. "I don't think so," I said. "Give me Pyper first and then you'll get this stupid prototype."

"Do I look like an idiot to you?" Peaches demanded. "If we release Pyper to you first then what's stopping you from just making a break with both her and the device?"

"And if I hand over the prototype first what's my guarantee that you won't make off with Pyper as well?" I countered.

"Why on God's green earth would I want to keep her??" Peaches exclaimed.

"Why don't we just make the switch at the same time, then?" I suggested. "I give this thing to your little lackey here and Pyper walks as he's handing it over to you."

Peaches clenched her jaw, displease, but gave in. "Fine, I suppose that's the best way. All right, Ginger, untie Pyper's legs and take off the blindfold."

I watched as Ginger pulled the blindfold off their captive's head and Pyper squinted in the sudden brightness. And then they had eased her out of the booth and pushed her over to my direction. I gave the device to Colin, who cheerily went to take it over to his employers.

Just as the two of them were about to pass each other, though, the doors to the café flew open violently and two giant black Labradors burst in, barking madly and upsetting tables and chairs. It sent the entire establishment in an uproar, and customers immediately started screaming and running for safety. Taking advantage of the chaos, I leapt forward and tackled Colin, wrestling the device from his hand. And then I reached over and attached it onto… Pyper.

"MMMPH!!" Pyper exclaimed through her gag, and then the muscle controller electronic anklet device thing was activated.

Pyper leapt up and then swung her bound hands underneath her to bring them to her front in one smooth motion, almost like in a kung fu movie. Then she swerved around and slammed her still bound hands into the face of Ginger, sending her to the floor and knocking her out cold. Colin had tried to get up but she kicked him in the midsection and into an upturned table. Peaches, deciding to make a quick getaway, tried to make a break for it but was caught by the controlled Pyper, who forced her screaming head down into a ready cake on the counter.

I picked myself up in time to see Avery enter the café, the device's compact remote in hand. "It took you long enough," I said to her.

"Hey, you're the one who went and chitchatted with these nimrods while they had my sister trussed up like a psychiatric patient," she said back to me.

"Speaking of your sister, aren't you going to make her stop now?" I asked, pointing to where Pyper, still controlled, was repeatedly slamming Peaches' face over and over into several cakes.

"Oh, right," Amara said, finally clicking off the device.

Pyper let out another muffled groan and stopped, stepping backwards a little before trying to furiously yank off the gag around her mouth. Alicia went over to where the kidnappers were trying to recuperate. "Well, well, well… Peaches and Ginger. Why am I not surprised?"

Peaches raised her head and spat out a mouthful of cake. "Ew… and I'm on a new diet! That's all gone to nothing now!"

Athena went over to look into her caked-up face. "All right, I want answers. What were you going to use that fucked-up mechanism of Pyper's for? I know you, you arrogant little princess, and I know that it can't be good."

"I'm not telling you anything!" Peaches said obstinately.

"We were going to use it on Pyper first," Ginger suddenly said, having sat up and holding her head. "Peaches said that if we made Pyper disrupt another WWE event in a really big way then she would get banned from them altogether, and then you and your little sister would follow suit too. That way, you wouldn't be able to interfere when we started trying it out on the wrestlers."

"For crying out loud, Ginger, shut your freakin' hole!" Peaches yelled at her.

"Daddy says you're not supposed to swear!" Ginger told her.

"How in the hell do you know these two head cases?" I asked Adrienne.

"Long story," Annabelle said, "And I know you're not interested. Oh, by the way, Pyper's nearly free," she said, pointing to where Pyper had gotten the gag off and was trying to work through the knots on the ropes around her hands.

"Hang on, Chrissie!" she called out. "Just need to pull at this here and then… uh, hey, can I get a little help here?"

"And that's my cue to leave before she gets out of those things," I said. "But before I do, can I see that?" I asked, pointing to the remote. Andrea gave it to me willingly enough and I promptly smashed it onto one of the counters. I heard both Peaches and Pyper give matching howls of protest but ignored them. "And could you make sure the main unit gets similar treatment?"

"Will do," Angela said, nodding. "Now get out of here before Pyper gets free and I have to spend a godawful amount of time prying her off you."

She didn't have to tell me that twice, and so before my most obsessive fan girl could begin chewing on the ropes that held her hands together, I was out the door. The last thing I saw were petrified customers filing out, Peaches wiping icing from her eyes, and Azrael tossing the prototype to her hellhounds to use as a chew toy.

I later found out that the bill for damages at Figaro's was settled by Peaches and Ginger's daddy, after it was pointed out that if none of the café's rather self-absorbed patrons had noticed the trussed up Pyper then the security cameras had at least caught it all on tape. Avery and Pyper promised not to slap them with a lawsuit if Peaches and Ginger forked over the money for the bill. It seemed more than a little dumb to me, but I soon learned that it was only another battle in a continuing war.

It was Pyper who contacted me to provide my input in her highly questionable chronicles. "Seriously, Poppy," I snapped at her via my cellphone, the number which I had changed yet again and she had acquired yet again, "Why in the hell would I want to pen an account of one of the most fucked up days of my life, and for you no less?"

"Oh come on, Chrissie," she said, her voice light. "I could do it myself, but I spent a lot of the time blindfolded and gagged, so I really can't give an accurate description of what happened outside of my experience."

"Then get your inversely charming sister Annalisa to do it."

"Nah, I've got her commissioned for another part. Oh well, if you really won't do it, then I suppose I can piece things together myself. Now would you say that when you found out I had been abducted you broke into tears out of fear and love for me?"

"W-what??" I sputtered. "Neither! I tried to go back to sleep the moment I had gotten that initial phone call—"

"Uh-huh. And when you and Azzie had gotten the prototype from my laboratory you immediately snatched it up and took it away to make the trade for me, risking your very life?"

"It was a huge inconvenience but hardly a risk to my wellbeing, you crazy—"

"And upon arriving at the evil witch Peaches' lair you charged in on your magnificent white steed and demanded that I be released into your big, strong arms—"

"Fuck-damnit. I'll have my narrative to you by next Wednesday."

"Sounds great, Chrissie."

"Oh, and one more thing before I hang up the phone and change my number for the eleven-hundredth time, did you swipe a pair of boxers from my gym bag again??"

"The one with purple duckies all over them? I got them three days ago."

"I thought so. Goodbye, Pyper."

And hence my addition to these ridiculous records. I still hold the hope that I may be able to shake that lunatic off and out of my life. Someday. Until then I hope that what I've offered here isn't vandalized with shoddy and entirely untrue professions of love. This is the Ayatollah, the Undisputed King of Bling, signing off.

Now get off your computer screens and back to getting a life.


End file.
